


Lambert's Cat

by KallenTheNightSwan



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Transformation, Lambert Needs a Hug (The Witcher), M/M, Protective Lambert (The Witcher), Soft Lambert (The Witcher), Touch-Starved Eskel (The Witcher), Touch-Starved Lambert (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27681293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KallenTheNightSwan/pseuds/KallenTheNightSwan
Summary: Lambert comes across a curious feline while on a contract.He has no idea it could be the supposedly dead Cat Witcher, who's medallion he carries in his pack.
Relationships: Aiden & Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

“The curse is lifted from the town, so we know the Witcher did his job… but he never returned for the coin so he’s probably dead. The wench was a vile creature herself, no doubt they were equally matched – no burden on us if they killed each other, but the butcher’s boy went out to check on the Witcher and was met with a bloodbath and corpses. Came to me with piss-stained breeches, blathering about the scene.”

The grizzled alderman sneers in disgust and Lambert grits his teeth against a scathing remark. He desperately needs the coin, he literally can’t afford to mouth off right now.

“Anyways, Witcher. It’s been days since then, no doubt there are corpse eaters about… so, the contract is to clean up the scene. Burn the hut down if you have to. The wench was all about curses and experimenting on whatever suited her. I don’t want any curious folk here to think they can find anything of value in the aftermath.”

Lambert exchanges a curt nod of agreement with the alderman before carefully spinning on his heel and stalking off to retrieve his horse. He grits his teeth the entire way, probably scaring the shit out of any unfortunate soul to see his face but he doesn’t care.

He’s pissed off, in need of a nap, and his leg is still aching from his last contract. He hasn’t dared look at it – probably infected or nearly there by now, but there’s nothing he can do about it unless he steals ingredients and he’s not sure he’ll be able to pull that off.

Lambert takes a deep, steadying breath before approaching his skittish mare. He just got her earlier in the year and she’s still not used to his taciturn nature nor the monster-hunting. Grumbling to himself, he tries to keep his mind off of the other Witcher and the unfairness of it all as he prepares to set off into the forest.

Despite his efforts, his thoughts keep floating back to the supposedly deceased Witcher.

He had to haggle the alderman about the pay at first – 300 crowns for lifting a curse and disposing of a corrupted witch. That’s less than he’d normally get for a nest of ghouls or nekkers… the Witcher must have been hard-up for coin, or he was a soft-heart like Eskel. Lambert scoffs, “Damn fouls, the lot of them.”

At least he’s taking the job now, he’ll get some coin and he’ll get to make sure none of the perished Witcher’s effects get picked over by the ungrateful villagers that sent him to his death.

Not that he cares much about formalities or funeral rights, but he’ll make sure the Witcher’s medallion doesn’t end up in some pawnshop or on the neck of a bandit like a trophy.

If he decides to repurpose the guy’s armor and weapons, well – better with him, another Witcher, than with some pock-faced brat from the ungrateful town he met his demise in.

* * *

When Lambert finally nears the scene, he dismounts his mare and secures her reins to a nearby tree. He can hear the snarls and grunts of necrophages and scoffs in disgust.

After prepping his blade, he takes a deep breath to steel himself against the pain in his leg and the fatigue that has been weighing him down for days.

One more fight, then he can get his coin, take care of his leg, and fucking _rest_.

He wrinkles his nose and only years of experience has him not gagging at the sharp, iron scent of blood and gore as it hits the back of his throat.

“Well… it’s now or never.”

Not even bothering with stealth, he walks determinedly into the clearing up ahead –

… and cannot believe what he sees.

The group of ghouls is expected. The blood, viscera and debris is expected.

  
What he doesn’t expect, is for his eyes to be drawn to a growling ball of fluff on the roof of the dilapidated hut, hissing and swiping at a ghoul.

Decades of Witcher training and experience prevented him from getting ripped apart by ghouls like an amateur while his focus was elsewhere. With an aborted swipe from the closest ghoul almost takes his shoulder, Lambert drags his attention away from the curious sight, and to the task at hand.

He makes quick work of the ghouls that come at him, and once they’re gone he turns towards the last of the bunch – still distracted trying to get to the furious ball of fur as it launches itself from the roof to land harshly onto the dirt ground behind the angry ghoul.

The cat looks up and makes eye contact with him for a split second, bright eyes flashing, before making an abrupt turn and darting into the witches hut – leaving the last ghoul to fall to Lambert’s silver sword.

Giving himself a breather, he looks around the bloody scene and checks to make sure there are no further threats in the area. Scenting, hearing nor seeing none, he is contemplating his next course of action when a crash comes from inside the witch’s home. Lambert huffs a laugh at the feline yowl that follows the noise, before deciding that his next course of action was to check out the small structure for any possible useful items.

And if he kinda wants to check out the fearless feline, well… none of his brothers are around to give him shit about it.

Lambert keeps his hand on the hilt of his silver sword as he cautiously steps through the doorway. It’s not his first hunt, he knows to be weary of magical traps and other nonsense when entering an enemy’s abode… but the cat seems to be fine, Lambert doesn’t see it anywhere, but he hears its heart beating rapid-fast and anxious. As he passes a bookcase he’s halted by the crunching of glass beneath his boot. He kneels down and carefully inspects the vial – taking a cautious sniff, he guesses it’s a brew of some sort. His eyes take some adjusting to the sudden darkness, but once they do, Lambert’s able to make out dozens of potion ingredients and other occult paraphernalia.

“Well, best not to let any of this go to waste.” Inwardly, he’s happy with this find. After rummaging through a chest of random items, he finds a burlap sack and starts stuffing things into it. He’s hard up on potions, coin and gear. He will take what he can, and what he can’t use, he’ll barter or sell it.

When he crosses over to the other side of the domicile, he hears a quiet growl come from the cat’s chosen hiding spot. Smiling, because while he’s sore and tired as _fuck_ , he’s in a much better mood than he was earlier, Lambert crouches to peek under a side table.

“Hey fella, you put up quite a fight out there.” He keeps his voice soft and friendly, something he doesn’t bother to do most of the time, but for this ball of fluff he’ll make an exception.

Lambert’s not really expecting a kind nor friendly response from the feline, as all cats seem to hate Witchers with a passion; but the feline almost seems to calm at his voice and makes eye contact with him.

The Wolf Witcher blinks in surprise, “Huh.”

The cat just blinks its big, green cat eyes back at him and meows once.

Not knowing what to do about it, Lambert just stands up, cursing and hissing at the pain in his leg. “Well, gunna take this shit and make camp somewhere,” Lambert pauses on his way out the door and looks back over his shoulder to where the large cat is still hidden. “I’ll be back…”

Feeling very out of sorts for talking to a cat, he grumbles to himself and limps back into the forest to where his mare is tied.

_“I’ll set up camp and fix up my leg… should be done by midday. Then I’ll go back and sort out the scene – find the Witcher’s stuff if I can before torching the place.”_

Lambert narrates his actions while making the tincture for his wounded leg to his horse who doesn’t even look towards him as he talks or acknowledge his existence.

Feeling stupid, he growls and throws more debris into his fire chewing on his lip to withhold an emotional outburst.

_Fuck_ he’s lonely.

* * *

It’s late in the day by the time Lambert has most of the scene straightened out and ready to burn. Luckily, he came across the other Witcher’s knapsack, which had a Swallow and a White Honey inside that he took immediately before clearing the rest of the area.

The entire time Lambert was sorting everything out, he kept tabs on the feline’s heartbeat that was still coming from the same spot inside the hut since he’d last came here. After killing as much time as he could, he had no more tasks to complete and was ready to burn everything to the ground and complete his contract.

But first, he had to go back inside the hut and get the damn cat out of it.

He was not going to burn it down with the feline still inside, it might be ‘just a cat’, but it was still a living thing that could feel pain, and Lambert won’t put it through the trauma of burning when it survived a fight with a ghoul.

More importantly, though, is that Lambert wants to touch it. He wants to feel its soft-looking fur through his course fingers, even if it claws at his face – it’ll be worth it for that moment.

Right now though, he looks down at his blood-soaked hands and starts to devise his plan to get the cat outside and away from its’ hiding spot. When he went in earlier to check on the cat, it had moved slightly and the scent of fresh blood hit his nose. So the feline was injured, and injured animals are more likely to act out of fear and pain. He’ll have to approach it delicately.

On his way back out the door the second time, he spotted some bowls on the side table and had an idea.

First step was washing off as much blood from his hands as possible.

Next, he’ll fill up a bowl of fresh water from the well and set it up by the Witcher gear he assembled. Taking some jerky from the Witcher’s pack, he crumbles some up in another bowl next to the water, and leaves the rest in his hands in hopes of luring the creature out to him.

Lambert makes his way back into the hut and crouches back down in front of the cat. It’s calmer now, and meets his gaze with tired eyes. He frowns in concern, hoping the creature’s not hurt too badly.

“Hey pal, I need you out of here, okay? I’ve gotta torch this place.” He hesitates, watching the cat’s green eyes blink, eyes now more alert and ears pricked towards him. Lambert feels his heart clench in his chest, it won’t know what he’s saying, but the animal is responding to his voice and he has its full attention and it’s more than he’s had in a long while.

The Witcher swallows thickly, “So… uh… here, kitty, kitty? Common, I’m not gunna hurt ‘cha. I’ve got some food? See?” Lambert tentatively holds out his palm with small scraps of jerky crumbled in it towards the cat and it looks at him, then at the food, then back at him again.

Biting his lip, Lambert decides to scoot back a few feet and set some pieces on the floor just outside of the cat’s hiding spot and waits a moment.

The cat makes a grumbling noise as it shuffles forward. Lambert holds his breath as the cat pokes its head out from under the table and looks up at him with a narrowed, suspicious gaze.

Lambert huffs out a laugh, “Okay, okay… I get it. You’re not stupid. I’ll back up.” Smiling, Lambert raises slowly from his crouch and takes a few more steps back before crouching again and setting another crumb of dried meat in front of him.

As he watches the weary feline slowly crawl out from under the table to snap up the meager offering Lambert frowns at the cat’s condition. It looks a bit larger and more wild than the domesticated cats he’s seen lurking and hissing at him around certain cities and larger towns. Upon closer inspection, he sees signs of abuse and signs of a rough life. The tip of the cat’s left ear is missing, like it was cut or ripped off, and it has an obvious scar up its front left leg that’s long since been healed that Lambert can see when it carefully reaches that paw forward in an attempt to pull the next crumble of meat closer to itself without bringing it any closer to Lambert.

A little disappointed, but understanding, Lambert bites his lip and stands up slowly. Not looking any more at the anxious cat, he makes a trail outside with the rest of the crumbles of meat before walking away to give the feline a chance to make its way out without scrutiny or fear getting hurt.

Lambert knows what that’s like. Only no one was as kind to him.

* * *

Lambert goes off into the woods to relieve himself and when he returns he knows the cat is gone. Sighing, he starts to drag the corpses of monsters and men into the hut so he only has to set one fire.

If he had the time or the patience, maybe he’d bother to deduce which was the body of the fallen Witcher, but the scene is a mess and he has no clue if there was even anything left of the poor guy before he even got here.

“At least his stuff will be put to good use, and no fool will go around wearing his medallion.”

He doesn’t feel as bad not holding a ceremony for a Cat Witcher, and he’d just bury the medallion and call it a day, but something had him hold back from dropping it into the dirt.

Lambert sighs and, after clearing enough distance from the hut, he hurls an explosive into the thatch roof of the hut and after a _bang_ he watches it burn for a moment.

_“Meow.”_

The Witcher turns around and sees the large cat sitting beside the dead Witcher’s pack, nosing at the flap. Lambert watches it, his heart light in his chest, keeping his steps light as he approaches the nosey feline.

When Lambert crouches down, closer to its level the cat sits and looks up at him with bright, wide kitten-eyes and steps on the pack. _“Meow?”_

Lambert knows he’s got a stupid grin on his face, but this cat is something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actually started writing a story called "The Cat Witcher's Wolf", which is about Lambert getting cursed into a wolf and Aiden coming across him. Then partway through the brainstorming of that, I decided that there's nothing wrong with writing another story where Aiden is the one cursed as a cat... because we need more 'Lamden-centric' stories. :D 
> 
> This one just happened to flow out of me, while the other one is in pieces right now, kinda trying to figure out what beginning I want to go with... how long I want it to be, so many plot bunnies with "The Cat Witcher's Wolf" it might be a while until I post for it... but this one just flowed so... let me know what you think!
> 
> *Also - I need help! Any suggestions for names for 'cat Aiden' that Lambert would call his new cat companion eventually? (besides "Kitten", that's a given)
> 
> Either that, or I might like... have him not end up ever naming cat Aiden, and when Lambert eventually (SPOILER ALERT) ---- brings his new kitty to Kaer Morhen, Eskel asks him what his new friend's name is, and Lambert panics because he never fucking named his cat! xD


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I'm going to try to create a posting schedule for myself. Ideally every 2 weeks at most, if I can't crank these out weekly. Maybe doing small chapters like mini-stories will help? I'm also working on the other one, where Lambert is the one cursed - but might not post that one up for a while, though.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy! :)
> 
> -KS

When Lambert finally makes it back to town and collects his payment, the sun is starting to set in the sky.

Much later than he had originally planned to have this contract all wrapped up and sorted, but he’d gotten distracted plying the cat with jerky bits, trying unsuccessfully to pet the damn, skittish little creature. The Wolf Witcher huffs out a quiet laugh to himself and smiles a little wistfully at the thought of the feline.

He must be getting soft – to consider even for a split second about not showing up until morning to collect his damn payment for a contract, especially as hard-up for coin as he’s been lately; just so he could keep feeding and trying to pet some dumb cat.

Just before he leaves the village, he stops by the tavern for some food for the road.

Lambert spots a jar of jerky strips on the counter and impulsively buys the entire thing.

As he reaches the woods to return to his camp for the night, he realizes what he just did and curses himself.

He’s stupid, what was he thinking? That the cat might smell the jerky and come back to him?

Lambert scoffs and mutters to himself, “At least jerky will last a while, it’s a good ration for the road. I should be buying it or making it more often.”

It’s bullshit and he knows it.

* * *

It’s dark by the time Lambert finally makes it back to his half-assed camp and he’s glad for the foresight of buying his meal to-go before leaving the village. Had he not, it’d be another damn night of trying to sleep on an empty stomach.

His mood soured, he heaves a heavy sigh and drops the sack to the ground by a fallen log before stumbling through the thicket in search of more kindling to renew his campfire.

“Should’ve done this on my way back, now I’m marching through the goddamn dark.”

It thankfully doesn’t take too long to find the kindling he needs, he’d even found some spices and herbs he can add to the plain meat.

As he approaches his camp, he hears rusting in the bushes and freezes in place. Holding his breath, Lambert’s keen gaze is locked on the movement under the bush and he waits.

Suddenly, a rabbit darts out and the Witcher growls at himself for his stupid hope.

Of course the cat’s not going to just show up at Lambert’s camp.

In the end, he doesn’t end up cooking his meal. He settles for a half-assed campfire and nibbles on some jerky before sulking in his bedroll.

* * *

Lambert’s eyes snap open and instinct has him holding his breath, tense and ready as he listens carefully for what woke him in the from a near-dead sleep.

After a moment, he registers what sounds like a pack of wolves or wild dogs rushing right towards his camp.

Scowling, he quickly gets to his feet and a his hand goes towards his nearest sword. Just before he braces further for their arrival, Lambert throws an _Axii_ sign at his mare to calm her down just as the first wolf of the pack leaps confidently over a bush and into his camp and he cuts it down a split-second later.

Two more wolves approach, head low and prowling towards him. He really doesn’t want to fight in the middle of his camp – blood will get all over his bags, and he doesn’t want to clean up another mess for at least a few more days.

Royally pissed off, Lambert roars in frustration and prepares to swing his sword at the next wolf but incidentally the two in front of him cower and look at him with wide eyes as if startled.

Seizing the opportunity, he roars loudly again, lifts his sword up and chases the two out of his camp. After a dozen or more paces, the Witcher throws _Aard_ at them to hasten their departure and hopefully renew their fright.

Growling at the inconvenience, but confident the wolves won’t return for the rest of the night, Lambert stalks back to camp.

“Great. What am I supposed to do with this?” Lambert growls in annoyance and toes the dead beast’s head with his boot. He stares at the corpse in silence for a few moments, a frown marring his features. “What the hell even brought you guys into my camp like that?”

_“Mrow.”_

Ah. The answer to his question. Lambert smirks, mood suddenly much lighter than moments before, and turns around with his hands planted on his hips to address the feline.

“So, I guess you’re the reason those wolves crashed my camp?”

The cat cranes its head back to look up at Lambert and meows.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started writing a story called "The Cat Witcher's Wolf", which is about Lambert getting cursed into a wolf and Aiden coming across him. Then partway through the brainstorming of that, I decided that there's nothing wrong with writing another story where Aiden is the one cursed as a cat... because we need more 'Lamden-centric' stories. :D 
> 
> This one just happened to flow out of me, while the other one is in pieces right now, kinda trying to figure out what beginning I want to go with... how long I want it to be, so many plot bunnies with "The Cat Witcher's Wolf" it might be a while until I post for it... but this one just flowed so... let me know what you think!
> 
> *Also - I need help! Any suggestions for names for 'cat Aiden' that Lambert would call his new cat companion eventually? (besides "Kitten", that's a given)
> 
> Either that, or I might like... have him not end up ever naming cat Aiden, and when Lambert eventually (SPOILER ALERT) ---- brings his new kitty to Kaer Morhen, Eskel asks him what his new friend's name is, and Lambert panics because he never fucking named his cat! xD


End file.
